Unwritten Pages
by the8thweasley
Summary: "You don't always have to be the hero, Harry," you whisper, leaning towards his bent face, and twirling your fingers through the messy curls that lay at the nape of his neck. Drabblesque type thing, HP/GW before Harry leaves the Burrow in Deathly Hallows
1. Chapter 1

**A/N~So I have never written or read a Harry/Ginny fanfiction, but I thought it was necessary to explore new things ! Hopefully it is good, and please tell me what you think in a review!**

**Disclaimer: Absolutely everything is J.K. Rowling's. **

"You don't always have to be the hero, Harry," you whisper, leaning towards his bent face, and twirling your fingers through the messy curls that lay at the nape of his neck.

He jerks away, a glare intensifying his brilliant green eyes. He's just told you that he can't be with you—that he is leaving, but he can't tell you where he is going. He looks so _angry_, so _tired_, so _done_.

Done with the _world_, done with _Voldemort_, done with _you_.

"I can't stay here and do nothing," he can't even look into your eyes, the ones that are brimming with tears. But why, you ask yourself?

Because you always _knew_. Knew that he would choose the world over _you_, knew that he would _leave_, knew that he would have to be the _hero_.

And you know you are being selfish because he _has _to be the one, the _chosen_ one. And you've known it for awhile now.

"I know," is all you can force out of your mouth.

It is _bitter,_ and _hard, _and _heartbreaking._

He looks at you and notices for the first time that tears seem to be fleeing your eyes. Your brown orbs that read his _heart, _and_ soul_, and _desires_ better than anybody else.

"Ginny…" he says, trying to reach the _logical_ part of your brain, the part that has _seen_ this coming.

But you can't be _logical, _and _reasonable, _and _detached_ because he could _die._ Because your fairytale might not _happen_. Because your love might be _destroyed._

"No," you murmur, because you don't want him to _pity_ you, and think you a _fool_.

He looks so _helpless_, and _lost,_ and _incomplete_. And you want to _stop_. Stop _evil,_ stop _time, _stop_ him._

Because you aren't sure if you could ever _live_ without him. Not truly. And what if he doesn't come _back_? What if something happens—something _inevitable_?

"I'll come back," he says it so _simply, _so _easily_, so _doubtlessly._

You nod because you can't voice your fears to _him_. Not the boy who _lived_. Not _Harry Potter_.

He gently kisses you on your forehead and chills run the length of your body because what if he never can do that again? What if you can never _touch, _and _feel,_ and _see_ him again?

He's walking away, towards the door that is taunting you with its _distance_.

And you could call out to him. You could _stop_ him, make him _turn,_ make him _hurt_ with this decision. But what kind of _person_ would you be then? So you let him _leave_, let him _walk_ out, let him _save_ the world.


	2. Chapter 2

He's back with you again, but is he _really_? You can feel him. _Holding_ you, _caressing_ you, _comforting_ you. There is disaster surrounding you, Hogwarts lies in _ruins_, and there as so many _dead_—so many _gone_.

You look up into his eyes, his eyes that are concealed by dust covered glasses. One of the lenses is _cracked_ just like your heart—just like _his_ heart.

Hundreds of dead bodies lie on the tables that surround you, and every person is a _stab_ to his heart. You can feel his body _tense_. Tense because he _blames_ himself, because he _succeeded_, yet _failed_ in his own eyes.

His eyes are _dead. _Dead along with the bodies on the tables. Dead because he doesn't think that he can _live_ with all of this _regret_, and _sorrow_, and _pain_.

He looks at your mum who is _crying_ over Fred's body and he breaks apart. He starts _running_, out of the room, away from his _guilt. _

You find him huddled in a corner. He looks so _young_, so _innocent_, so _breakable_. What can you do for the _Boy Who Lived_? How can you help the boy who is perpetually _strong_?

There's only one way you can think of to wipe away the _pain_. You stride over purposefully and you _kiss _him.

It's just a _peck_. Simple, short, bittersweet. But it _shows_ him that he's not _alone_, that he can move _on_, that it's not bad to feel _relieved_ even with so many _casualties_.

He stares at you with eyes as _broken_ as the left lens of his glasses. But you know he will be _okay. _That you can both _move on_ from this point. You can be _together_ at last.


End file.
